


When No Birds Sing

by ArgentSleeper



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Brothers, Gen, Magic Revealed, Protective Arthur
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-01
Updated: 2015-03-01
Packaged: 2018-03-15 19:24:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3458981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArgentSleeper/pseuds/ArgentSleeper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur doesn't grow up as a prince in a fancy castle in Camelot.  Instead he's found abandoned in the woods near a small village called Ealdor.  Life is simple for a farmer, even one weighed down each day by the shadow of his brother's secret.  Robin, son of Hunith, has want for no other life.</p><p>But destiny always has a way of getting back on track again, no matter how many twists in the path.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When No Birds Sing

**Author's Note:**

> This is a continuing fill of [this prompt](http://kinkme-merlin.livejournal.com/36351.html?thread=40446207#t40446207) on the kmm. Updates will be made there first in smaller sections at a time, then transferred here as each full chapter is completed.
> 
> Sorry to everyone who, like me, hates when characters' names change. It would have been one heck of a coincidence for Hunith to name Arthur Arthur, and it would have created problems later, so I had to change it for now. He'll go back to being Arthur later, I promise.
> 
>  
> 
> Tags/Pairings/Characters subject to change as the plot develops.

 

 

It’s been three months since Balinor left. Three months and sixteen days, and Hunith still isn’t sure she did the right thing. Her belly was only now starting to grow noticeable at a passing glance, and the nausea had finally passed so that she could eat again. While she had tried to deny the little life blossoming in her belly before, now it is no longer an option.

Nor does she want to any longer, at least not most days. Some, Hunith cannot help but wish things had been different, that Balinor had been able to stay, that she had been brave enough, selfish enough, to tell him he was to be a father, simply so she would not have to do this alone. But what kind of life would they have had? Balinor could never have stayed, not with King Uther’s armies bearing down on him. Could she have made it, living a life on the run? Could their son?

She knows now he is her baby boy. Despite what the old matrons say –the ones who still deem her worthy of speaking to –Hunith can feel it in her bones. She wonders what kind of father Balinor would have been. Would he have been attentive and nurturing or left the raising to the mother? She will never know now, but Hunith is sure he would have loved their son with every breath in his body. His heart would have shattered to know he was leaving them both. Which was why she had known she could not tell him, that night he said he must leave to protect her. Because it would have changed everything and nothing.

This morning is the first Hunith dares to venture out in the forest on her own. Before now her morning sickness coupled with fear of Uther’s lingering forces had kept her within the village sights. Her neighbour William, whose wife is also expecting, has been sharing their meat with her, so at least she had not wanted for food. But growing babies needed more than just chickens and hogs, so foraging for fruits she must.

The woods are silent, but it doesn’t bother her as much as it might. A light breeze ruffles the leaves of the trees, and the birds are singing merrily. So long as she can hear the birds Hunith knows she’s safe. Balinor taught her that much while he was with her, how the forest always knows when danger is afoot. How a bird knows the difference between a friend and a foe she doesn’t know, but it’s comforting to believe it.

The sun has passed an hour through the sky when the singing stops. Immediately Hunith freezes. It’s only a boar. Or perhaps a fox, both of which will ignore her if she is very, very still. Raiders might attempt to rape her, but her current state will be a deterrent, at least it was with her cousin Mary. Not that thinking of Mary is a comforting thought, as they killed the poor girl instead. But death would be preferable to the fate that could await her if it is none of the above.

It’s been weeks since the last Camelot patrol. Not that they would have any reason to detain her. There is no sign that she harboured their fugitive, her son is not physically marked with Balinor’s name. They have no right to take him away from her.

But it doesn’t stop the fear that they might.

She cannot run. Hunith has long known she isn’t the most graceful of women, and the bump on her midriff has not improved matters. Running will only attract attention anyway, attention she cannot afford to have, so instead Hunith carefully gets to her feet, using a nearby trunk for support, picks up her basket, and slips as carefully and quietly as she can through the trees.

The only advantage she has is that she knows these woods, far better than any Camelot knight ever could. There is a cave, not far from where she is. The opening is concealed, only visible close-up and then only from the proper angle. If she can make it inside, she should be safe, at least until they leave. That is, if she can fit her now slightly larger profile through the tiny gap.

She barely has the cave in her sights when the clink of armour reaches her ears. Stumbling as she increases her pace, Hunith presses herself against the gap in the rocks, wincing as the sharp edges scrap her back. Though it increases her width, she places her hands against her belly, protecting her precious bundle. For a few agonizing seconds, she is afraid she won’t make it, that they will spot her and it will be over. With one last frantic tug she’s inside, the darkness surrounding her.

But she isn’t alone. Hunith can tell immediately, recognizing the sounds of breathing that is not her own. And if she can tell, so can the other.

Sinking down the rough cave wall, Hunith makes herself as small as possible. Perhaps the other person is as frightened as her. Perhaps they, too, are hiding from the patrol. It’s the only thought she dares entertain, that her unwanted companion is in the same straits as she.

But the next sound is not that of a frightened peasant woman, or even an angry warrior man.

It’s the snuffling of an infant, just awaking from sleep.

Hunith has to clamp a hand over her mouth to stifle the gasp. She’s sure there is no other sound in the cave, no other breathing, so that means this child is alone. But why would anyone leave their little one abandoned in a cave? Groping the dark floor, Hunith’s fingers brush against a wicker basket not unlike her own berry filled one. She drags it to her, reaching in with gentle hands to scoop up the child. They’re small, likely hardly more than a year old. The snuffles increase as the baby becomes more and more aware of their surroundings, which do not include their mother.

Frantically Hunith whispers to the poor thing, doing her best to keep it calm and, above all, quiet. She has no idea what these knights would do with a defenceless infant, but she cannot see them taking the time to care for it, to search for its lost mother. They would likely abandon the poor thing once more at the nearest village, not even worrying if any was willing to take it in, if they bothered with it at all.

Well, the nearest village is Hunith’s, and she is willing. Oh how the matrons would laugh at her now, the discarded mother of discarded children.

It feels like years before the clang of metal and horses dissipates and the trill of bird song returns. The sun is starting to set before Hunith dares crawl out of the cave. Exiting is easier than entering, even with the small bundle to push ahead of her in its basket.

No, not it, he. She can see him clearly now out in the sunlight. The little boy blinks bright blue eyes curiously at her, his chubby face screwed up in disgust at his circumstances. There is no sign of where he’s come from. His swaddling blanket is simple, nothing more than a scrap of cloth against the chill, hardly covering the mop of golden blond hair atop his head. The only other thing in the basket is a small disc, marked with some creaturous symbol she can’t fathom the meaning of. Hunith knows she is faced with a decision. She can leave the boy here and hope his mother will return, or she can take him with her.

It’s not really a choice, she knows. To leave the child is to leave him to his death. Hunith cannot afford to remain out in the woods with the growing dark, and if she can’t, the boy can’t.

The baby seems to think the same. His breathing becomes ragged as he winds himself up to scream. Gently Hunith lifts him out of the basket again, holding him tight to her shoulder. The wails still come, but she is there to whisper soothing things as she carries him back towards Ealdor. She leaves his basket on the ground, balancing hers in the crook of her elbow.

“Now, what shall I call you?” she murmurs, half to herself, but honestly half to the baby as well, lost in the ridiculous turn this day has taken. “I suppose you already have a name, but how am I to know what it is? Could you be Eugene?” The baby hiccups, and Hunith giggles. “No, I suppose not. Perhaps Thomas? But you don’t look like a Thomas. What about…” The trill of birdsong catches her attention, and she smiles, remembering the circumstances of his discovery. “How about we call you Robin? Do you like that?”

There are no hiccups, so Hunith takes that as agreement.

“Well then, young Robin. Let’s go home.”

 

* * *

 

 

Of course everyone in the village is shocked when Hunith returns from the forest still pregnant with her bastard child and toting along a stray. A few of the braver ones even offer to take the poor thing off her hands, but Hunith will not budge. Robin is hers now, and even if his birth mother were to return to claim him, she is not sure she would be willing to give him up.

When news comes of the missing Pendragon prince, Hunith looks down at her towheaded baby and holds him like a shield against the rumours. Luckily the others are already used to her aversion to soldiers when an increase in Camelot patrols begins sweeping through the villages.

The matrons, who have seen a great many infants in their lives, agree, the boy is just a few months past a year. Just old enough she does not have to worry she has no breastmilk to give him. William offers her an extra portion of the milk from his cow in exchange for her services gathering food in the woods for his wife, who has been having more and more difficulty moving about as she grows nearer to her labour.

Of all of them, Robin takes the change the best, toddling about after her while she picks berries and roots as if he had never done anything else. It’s not long before he yells “Mama” to get her attention and screams in anxiety of separation if she needs someone else to watch him for a bit. Robin is fascinated with her rapidly expanding belly, poking it with one chubby finger and frowning at her grumpily when she explains that is his baby brother growing in there, as if he cannot abide the indignity of such a thing.

Hunith is glad the two will be so close in age. There are few other children in the village, and fewer still that aren’t plagued with tales of the trollop and her bastard. William has already informed her how thankful he is that between Hunith and his wife they need never worry about child care, so at least she can count on his little one’s friendship. But it will never be anything like the bond between brothers.

Hunith had always envied those who had a brother or sister to share their home and their hearts. Mary had been her best friend in her own childhood, but she’d always known Mary’s first loyalty was to her three younger sisters. Robin and the new baby will be like that, too, Hunith’s sure. They will always have each other to rely on, to protect each other from harm.

When the day comes her baby chooses to arrive, it takes all of William’s persuasion to overcome the midwife’s scruples and get her to attend “the bastard’s birth.” But attend she does, and after half a day of screaming –not all of it hers, as the now two-year-old Robin becomes extremely distressed by his mother’s pain and has to be taken to the other side of the village to calm him– Hunith holds her son, Balinor’s son, in her arms.

Despite the mirror of soft blue eyes staring back at her, he looks so much like his father it makes her want to cry with missing him. And suddenly Hunith can’t imagine how she had ever harboured thoughts against this child, if it means she has some scrap of Balinor she can hold forever, a piece of him left for her safekeeping to cherish. And cherish and protect him she will. Even if it means the death of her, Balinor’s son will survive, and he will live.

When Robin is finally allowed back in the little hut, he crawls onto the bed with her, gazing with unabashed awe at the new baby.

“This is your brother, Robin.”

Robin cocks his head and scrunches his face. “Fom Mama bewwy?”

“Yes, from Mama’s belly. He’s come out now to see you.”

“He weal widdle. You was big, Mama. Where da wes a’ him?”

Hunith laughs even through the exhaustion of her harsh labour. “He decided he liked this size best. After all, we couldn’t have him being bigger than you, could we?”

Robin shakes his head violently. Then he resumes his inspection of his new brother. “Wooks wike a bodado.”

She laughs again, and this time even the grudging midwife joins in. “Yes, he does like a bit like a potato, doesn’t he. But you did too when you were his age, so we’ll forgive him.”

Robin shrugs. He’s not to the age of understanding what forgiveness even is yet, let alone caring to do it. “Whad it’s name? I gots a name. Wih gots a name. Wih’s doggy gots a name. Did Wih wook wike a bodado when he come outta his mama bewwy? Ooo! Can we names it Wobin?”

“No, silly. That’s your name.”

“But peoble can has the same name! You’s Mama and Wih’s mama Mama! Why no two Wobins?”

Hunith sighs ruefully, knowing her elder son will not concede even if he could grasp her explanation. He’s stubborn that way, never giving ground even when he figures out he’s wrong. “Because it would be very confusing, love. If I call for Robin, how would you know who I was talking to? I might be asking this Robin to do chores, but you would never know it. Think of all the work you would have to do that might be baby Robin’s job instead.”

Robin looks horrified at the thought, and Hunith knows she’s won.

“Mewan!”

“Merlin?” Hunith thinks of the falcon bird they see a few times a month when they go foraging. Robin had been fascinated by the creature that he had been banned from attempting to approach, his mother terrified it might try to dive-bomb him. She’s not surprised he picks it as a name. And it’s fitting, Merlin and Robin, her two little birds.

“Merlin it is.”

And in that moment, surrounded by her two sons, Hunith’s world is perfect.

 

* * *

 

 

So it’s that much more heartbreaking that hardly six months later Hunith hears a cry from her elder son while she sits by her door grinding grains for bread.

“Mama! Mama!”

Fear clenches her heart despite the cheerfulness of his tone. Her boys are supposed to be napping, worn out from their game of “who can roll across the floor the fastest” (Robin loves this game because he always wins, being the bigger of the two and also the only one who actually knows they’re playing). They should have been out for at least another hour, even if Robin was feeling contrary. And Robin only sleeps on her bed, he should have run out to fetch her like he normally would, poking her in the knees to signal his desire to play again.

Visions of what might have happened flash through her head. Robin fell out of bed and broke his arm. Merlin stopped breathing and turned blue like Aerona’s daughter. A fox found its way inside and attacked them.

But the situation in their little hut is worse than she can possibly imagine. Robin is sitting cross-legged on the bed, giggling and clapping his hands as he watches his little brother. Or rather, as he watches the plates and bowls and spoons that dance above his little brother’s head, suspended by nothing but air.

Merlin still lies in his cot, one tiny hand having escaped the swaddling clothes and swirling around, directing the dance of the cutlery. His normally sky blue eyes are glowing with a gold as brilliant as his brother’s hair. The mark of sorcery.

Hunith wants to fall to the ground and weep. She wants to scream and cry and tear at her hair and curse the gods, and she will do that, later, in the privacy of the woods, while her children play with little Will and his mother. But she cannot afford to do that now.

“Mama, wook what Mewan doin’!” Robin shouts excitedly.

His laughter stops instantly as Hunith grabs him by the arms and hauls him upright on the bed, planting his feet on the blanket and bending down so she is eye-level with him. “You must never mention this ever again, do you hear me, Robin? This is a secret. You cannot tell anyone about the dancing plates. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Mama!” he squeaks.

“Do you understand, Robin? You cannot tell Will, or Will’s mama, or his papa or anyone else, ever. If you tell someone, they will take your brother away. They will take Merlin and they will take Mama and you will never see either one of us ever again. So you have to promise me, Robin. Promise you will never tell anyone.”

“I pwomise, Mama!” Robin is crying now, and Hunith knows she’s terrifying him, but she cannot risk this. Fear for her children makes Hunith clutch Robin to her breast, squeezing him far tighter than can be comfortable.

“You must stay quiet, love. You have to protect Merlin. That’s your job. Take care of your brother and keep his secret.” Robin is too young for the responsibility now placed upon his shoulders, but there is no longer any choice. He is in charge of safeguarding his brother’s life. Only his silence can guarantee it.

“I pwotek Mewan, Mama,” Robin hiccups. “I good big bwodda.”

“I know you are, love. I know you are.”

Releasing her death grip on her elder son Hunith reaches for Merlin, ignoring the crash of cutlery as his connection to the magic is lost and he becomes her innocent angel once more. Then Hunith sits on the bed with one boy in each arm and rocks them back asleep.

Why her, why her Merlin? Hunith had known Balinor had magic when she took him in. It was why he was fleeing the king after all. But he had never mentioned, she had never dared think, it would be passed down to his progeny. And she had certainly never heard of any sorcerer being able to cast magic so young, still in the cradle.

What was she going to do? She may, by some miracle, be able to get Robin to keep his silence, but how can she impress such a thing on an infant? It would be so long before Merlin would be able to even understand the word “no,” let alone the consequences for doing the things he did. That he would do more Hunith didn’t even think to discount. Of course he would. He was a sorcerer and sorcerers did magic.

And as a sorcerer who did magic, he was condemned to death. Even at the tender age of six months. For so long Hunith had feared that Merlin would be taken from her for being Balinor’s child, that Robin would be taken by his birth mother. When neither of these fears had come to pass, part of her had dared to think she was in the clear. That she would be able to live the rest of her life with her precious sons in peace. What a foolish notion that had been.

Never does the thought flicker into her mind, however, that she will give up. Hunith is a fighter. She fought to protect Balinor when any other might have turned him out, she fought to survive when the village shunned her for becoming pregnant out of wedlock, and she fought to take care of her two sons as best could. And she always will. Merlin is no less her son when his eyes glow gold than Robin is with his head of gold, so unlike her own. She will protect him, as she has charged Robin. No one will ever take her baby from her, not so long as she draws breath.

But that means precautions must be taken. She cannot leave her boys alone any more than strictly necessary. Even then, when she is with them, it will be best that they keep separate from others as much as possible, to avoid any slips. Sadly, Hunith knows that won’t be too difficult. So many still spurn her presence. But even those who still cared for her, like William and his family, they could not be fully trusted either, not with this.

No, her son’s secret will only able to stay between the three of them, Merlin, Robin, and herself. No one must ever find out.

 

* * *

 

 

Robin is six years old, and his life consists of three rules.

3\. He must be home by sunset.  
2\. He must take care of his little brother.  
1\. Under no circumstances can he ever ever let anyone know about Merlin’s tricks.

Merlin is four, and Robin is beginning to realize that the person he needs to protect his brother from the most is himself. While Robin is big and strong and golden, Merlin is pale and tiny and frail. He’s far too little to do things for himself, so he uses his tricks to help him. When Mama places a toy out of reach, Merlin knocks it down. When Robin can’t carry the logs Will’s papa splits for them in the winter, Merlin floats them home. When the bigger kids try to bully him, he clenches his twiggy fists and Robin knows, he knows that Merlin is going to push them backwards like he does Robin sometimes when they’re roughhousing.

Robin is never afraid Merlin will hurt anyone, even then. That’s not Merlin. His baby brother has the soft constitution to accompany his soft features, preferring cuddling up with Mama to playing more aggressive games like knights and bandits (Mama doesn’t seem to like it either). But even a small shove so he can make his escape would be suspicious, especially when it’s accompanied by his golden eyes.

So Robin takes care of his brother the best he can, climbing the cupboard to fetch his toys, sneaking off without him to gather the firewood, fighting the bullies in his stead. Mama despairs of him whenever he comes home with yet another black eye and bloodied lip, but Robin never tells her it was Merlin they wanted to beat upon, taking the chiding in silence.

Merlin knows what Robin is doing, at least on the surface. He’s still too little to know his tricks are so terribly bad, though Mama yells at him and puts him in the corner every time she catches him at it. He does tend to stop doing them for a while after being punished, though that seems to be more that he hates when Mama is mad at him than any sense he’s done wrong.

More often than not, especially as he gets older and the chastisements get stricter, his tricks are pure accidents, instinctive reactions to the world around him. Like the time Mama was about to drop the pot with the night’s stew, or when Robin tripped and nearly fell into the river. Sometimes, like with confiscated toys, he’s not thinking about the consequences, just the rewards.

Robin isn’t sure, but he doesn’t think that Mama has given him the same lecture she gives him every so often: don’t tell, if you tell, Merlin will be taken away forever.

It was when he was five that Robin came to realize “taken away forever” meant Merlin would die.

But with Merlin’s ignorance comes a hero status for Robin. Merlin completely adores him, following him everywhere with worshipful smiles. He proudly introduces Robin as “my fabourite big bwudder,” even to those they already know. If asked, and sometimes when he isn’t, Merlin says he wants to be just like him when he grows up. Robin basks in the attention. It’s no small thing to have someone love you as truly as Merlin does. He gloats about it to Will, who has no brothers or sisters. Will pouts and sneers and brags about his hunting dog Woof. Robin doesn’t have a dog. But he has Merlin, and Merlin seems better than a dog. A dog won’t eat your porridge for you when Mama’s back is turned (he knows, because he tried to feed it to Woof once, and Woof just spit it back up).

Sometimes Robin has to protect Merlin from non-trick dangers too. Like the time a fox chased them through the back fields and Robin had to hit it with a stick to make it go away. Or when Merlin fell from a tree and twisted his ankle and Robin had to carry him back to Mama. Or when Merlin got real sick and Mama cried when she didn’t think Robin was listening because Merlin was so hot and had slept for a real long time.

That one scared him so bad he didn’t tell Mama that Merlin had done one of his tricks to make himself better. It was better that she not know. Just like it was better for Merlin not to know Mama was so sad.

And sometimes, sometimes Merlin takes care of him. Like the night the rumbling and flashing in the sky shakes the thin walls of their little hut, and Robin curls shaking under his blanket, wanting to leap into bed with Mama for protection. But he’s a big boy, and he doesn’t need his mama to save him. Except when he does. Just as he’s about to give in –later he would just have to beg her not to tell anyone, especially Will –Merlin rolls closer under the blankets with him, wrapping his arms around him in a tight hug.

“I don’t wike the noise, Wobin.”

“It’s okay, Merlin. I’m here.” He could always be strong for Merlin, even if he couldn’t be for himself.

“Can you te’ me a stowy? 

“Sure. Once upon a time, there was a brave knight named Merlin.”

Merlin cuddles closer. “Wobin. Wobin’s the knight.”

“Robin,” Robin agrees. “There was a brave knight named Robin. Sir Robin had a great horse–”

“Unicon,” Merlin interrupts again. “A big white unicon. Named Woof.”

“Unicorns don’t woof, silly.”

“How do you know?”

Robin opens his mouth to retort, but then another rumble of thunder shakes the house, and he jumps. Trying to cover up his fear, he continues shakily, “Right. Sir Robin had a unicorn named Woof. And this unicorn could fly. Sir Robin loved to take Woof flying, flying all the way up the stars and landing on a cloud…”

He trails off as suddenly a collection of bright red-orange sparks appear over their heads, mingling about to form what was clearly a knight and his unicorn, flying through the sky. Glancing to the side, Robin could see the tell-tale gleam of gold in his brother’s eyes. The instinctive rebuke dies on his tongue at the beauty of the sight. How could anyone want to kill someone for making such pretty things?

“Sir Robin loved playing in the stars and clouds. But he missed his brother, Merlin, who wasn’t allowed to fly. So Sir Robin came back and taught his brother how to ride Woof on the ground instead. And they lived happily ever after.”

“Because they were together?” The little spark people hugged each other. Robin can feel the tension melting out of him.

“Because they were together.”

“Good night, Wobin.”

“Good night, Merlin.”

It’s three days later that Merlin must use his tricks in a much more dangerous way. The boys are wrestling in the woods while Mama is nearby gathering herbs from her favourite spot. Mama has warned them not to go too far, but Robin knows he can take care of them just fine. So when they wander far enough that he can no longer hear her, he’s not too concerned. That is, until he can hear something else, and he knows, it is certainly not his mother.

“Merlin, get behind me.”

It turns out it doesn’t matter how far behind him Merlin is, however, because the men surround them on all sides. They have no weapons, not even the hunting knife Robin knows Mama hides under her pillow at night. Not that it would matter. Even Robin with his puffed up pride knows they’re mere children to these four grown men. He may as well poke them with a stick for all the good a knife would do them.

“Well, well, what have we here? Wee little tykes lost in the big bad woods?”

“Boss did say he wanted some younglings for the next sale. Easier to train.”

“Who are we to deny the boss’s orders? Let’s nab ‘em and go, afore someone comes looking.”

Despite the futility, Robin raises his fists, determined. Even if he can’t stop the men from doing as they wish with him, he might at least cause enough of a distraction for Merlin to get away and fetch Mama.

“Get ready to run,” he whispers, and he can feel Merlin tense behind him.

The men start forward, ropes in hand. One goes to scoop Robin up, but the second his grimy hand touches Robin’s wrist, Merlin screams, a primal, angry sound. All four men are blasted backwards as if struck by a massive blow. They don’t get up.

Robin doesn’t stop to ask questions, simply grabs Merlin by the wrist and runs, sprinting away, away from the evil men and probably away from Mama, too, but as long as no one can touch him or Merlin again he’s happy.

They can’t go far because Merlin’s too young to have much stamina, and soon they collapse against a tree, panting heavily.

“Was that you?” Robin has to ask, though he knows the answer.

Merlin shrugs. “They was gonna hurt you.”

Like it was a simple decision, like it was always a simple decision. But Robin doesn’t like it, because he’s supposed to be the one protecting Merlin, and he can’t help but feel Merlin’s efforts to protect him have only put his brother in more danger.

 

* * *

 

 

It’s not until Merlin is six himself and Robin is eight that Merlin begins to understand the weight of the situation. Robin is peeling carrots for Mama’s stew when the group of young men and boys who’d gone out hunting that afternoon comes flying back into the village.

“Cenred’s men!” wheezes Matthew. “We heard ‘em! They’re coming!”

Quick as a flash Mama is at Robin’s side, yanking him back into the hut. His carrot and knife drop to the ground, but neither of them stop to pick it up. Merlin is practicing his letters at the table (Mama swore her children would not grow up uneducated, not if she could help it). He looks up as Mama and Robin enter, beaming at his brother. Robin smiles back, but it’s half-hearted, fear churning his insides.

Mama goes to a large trunk at the foot of the bed. “In here quickly, boys. Do not make a sound, and do not move until I come back for you.”

She gives Robin a look, and he knows what it means. Merlin is pouting, his lower lip trembling as he threatens to start crying at the harsh order. Mama needs Robin to make sure Merlin stays calm enough to do as he’s told.

“Come on, Merlin. It’s not bad. It’s just a game. Like hide and seek, ‘cept Mama already knows where we are.”

“But that’s what makes it fun,” Merlin whines, but he allows Robin to lift him into the trunk and settle beside him. Mama closes the lid and there’s a thud as she places something heavy –probably the stew pot –on top of them.

From the tiny shafts of light filtering in, Robin can tell Merlin is still confused and upset. He takes hold of his brother’s hands, squeezing them tight. Merlin grants him a watery smile and does not cry.

“You’re a big boy now, Merlin,” Robin whispers, soft as he can. “And big boys are brave.”

“I’m a big boy,” Merlin repeats. He cuddles up as close to Robin as the cramped space will allow. “I’m a big boy.”

The sound of the king’s men entering the village is only slightly muffled by the wood of their hiding place and the walls of the hut. There are bitten-off yelps and angry protests that Robin can’t quite make out. He hears Will’s mama screaming, asking why they have to take him, whoever “him” is. Robin hopes it’s not Will. If they want little boys, they might come for Merlin next.

“The king needs men to fight in the war.”

“It ain’t our war!” protests old man Simmons. “We ain’t never asked for it.”

“No one asked for sorcerers to start attacking us with their rotten tricks either,” sneers one of the strange men. “That’s the problem, innit? The monstrous bastards can’t seem to get that they ain’t wanted.”

Merlin must hear that, too, because he loses his battle with his tears and begins wailing. Robin clamps a hand over his mouth to attempt to muffle him, but he can see the gold of his brother’s eyes and knows something is happening, something he likely won’t be able to hide.

“Shh, shh, it’s okay. Please, Merlin, please be quiet.” The commotion outside might hide a bit of noise, but Robin knows he can’t risk it, not when Merlin’s magic is so uncontrolled in his distress.

He’s so focused on calming his brother that Robin doesn’t even notice at first that Mama is above them, calling their names. “Robin? Robin? Merlin? What happened? Why can’t I lift the lid?”

Merlin is still trembling against him. Robin does his best to get him to face him and listen. “Merlin, it’s okay. It’s over, I’m right here. You have to let it go.”

After a second the gold fades, and Mama rips the lid off. Merlin is only quiet for a second longer before he bursts into sobs again. Robin wants to cry too. How could people think his baby brother wasn’t wanted? How could anyone not want him? Mama sits on the bed and holds Merlin close, rocking him gently. She doesn’t say anything, because there’s nothing to say. Robin climbs up beside her and wraps his arms around them both, wishing he was big enough to protect them like he wants to.

“Mama?” Merlin sniffs, head burrowed into Mama’s shoulder. “Am I bad?”

“No, love. No, you aren’t bad.”

“Am I a monster?”

Mama pulls him away for just a moment, so she can look straight into his brother’s eyes. “Listen to me, Merlin. You are not a monster. Never, ever think that. You are my son, and I love you, magic and all.”

“Me too, Merlin!” Robin pipes in. “I love you, too!”

“We just have to be careful, okay? The magic- your tricks- they have to stay a secret. Not everyone can tell the difference between a monster and a little boy. You remember when the men went hunting and they accidentally hit Lyla? They didn’t mean to, but they made a mistake. But just because you’re a secret, Merlin, doesn’t mean you’re bad. You’re a good secret, okay. The best secret.”

“You’re my favourite secret, Merlin!”

“Will anybody ever get to know the secret, Mama?” whimpers Merlin sadly.

“One day, love. One day everyone will know just how wonderful you are.”

From then on Mama lets Merlin do his magic in the house, when she’s sure no one will pass by to see it. If they go out in the woods she allows Merlin to float roots and herbs into the basket. They sit by the fire in the winter and watch as Merlin makes the sparks dance. She thanks Merlin for catching the water bucket when Robin accidentally knocks it off the table.

Merlin is happier now that he isn’t getting in trouble for his secret, and by extension, Robin is happier. It means he has to keep a closer eye on his brother, who still sometimes slips when he’s scared, but the shift to accepting Merlin’s magic rather than fearing it brings a drastic easing of the constant tension that usually surrounds their household.

 

* * *

 

 

That wasn't to say they never fought. They were still boys, still brothers. Robin loved to tease Merlin about his size, and Merlin would pick on him about his affinity for "duelling" the other boys. These fights would almost always end with Mama sending them each to a corner until they apologized. Merlin was usually the first to give in and say sorry. Not because it was his fault, but simply because he hated when anyone was mad at him. Especially Robin. Robin would give in after a while, but on his part it was always more that he couldn't stand Merlin's pouting than because he was actually sorry.

But the point was, they always made up. Always. Even when Merlin broke Robin's favourite toy or Robin put a frog in Merlin's soup in revenge. Because they were brothers, after all. And that's what brothers did. They fought and yelled and kicked and punched, but they always had each other at the end of the day.

Robin is fourteen and a man to Merlin's childish twelve. Will's mother gives him her husband's crossbow after he fails to come back from Cenred's war. With it he is charged to gather food for the two families. He's also old enough now to work in the fields, and between the two he's hardly ever home.

Merlin takes offence to this, attempting to follow him every day, no matter where he's going. Robin yells at him to go home, but to no avail. Most of the time he doesn't mind. Merlin's chatter fills the dull spots of fieldwork, and he's good at controlling himself and his magic these days, enough that Mama doesn't mind leaving them alone for a day or so if she has to go to a nearby town to get supplies.

But sometimes, like that day in late October, where the air is getting chillier and game is getting scarce as animals are going into hibernation, he can't afford, they can't afford, for him to be patient. Merlin's constant talking and clumsy footsteps scare away what prey he finds. Worse, this time Will comes with him.

Robin and Will used to be good friends, back when Merlin was considered too babyish to play with, despite only being a few months younger. But as time went on and Robin became more devoted to taking care of his family -and Will's family these days- the two grew apart. And with Robin too busy to play with Merlin as well, Will has become his replacement.

Robin isn't fond of being replaced, especially not by Merlin.

"Go home, Merlin, I'm busy."

"And I'm bored." Merlin skips along beside him.

"Then go play with Woof. I'm busy."

"You're _always_ busy."

"Merlin,” he sighs in frustration, “it's not safe out here, okay? I don't have time to watch you. Go home."

Usually that's their code. It means Merlin isn't safe from people who might hurt him for his magic. Merlin always obeys such a hint.

But Merlin seems to be in a mood today. "I don't need you to watch me. I'm not a _baby_ , Robin."

"Come on, Merlin," scoffs Will. "He's obviously too cool to hang out with us _losers_ anymore."

Merlin looks at him with pleading eyes, begging him to deny it, to say he's joking, of course Merlin can stay. Robin loves Merlin; he would never be too cool to hang out with his little brother.

But Robin can also see how thin Merlin is from the lack of meat on the table recently. Robin has been trying to take less so Merlin and Mama can take more, but he knows they both are doing the same. Merlin is simply more successful at it because he uses his magic to make it look like his plate is fuller when no one is looking. He can’t keep it up much longer. Robin would go hungry for days if he had to so his family could eat, but they can’t eat at all if he can’t catch something.

“I said go home, Merlin.”

Merlin’s face twists into his stubborn set and he crosses his arms over his chest, nose thrust in the air. “I don’t have to do what you say, Robin. You’re not my boss. I bet Mother would tell you to be a good big brother and let me stay out here with you.”

It’s fear more than anger that makes him say it. But anger is all that comes across when he snaps, “Well, I bet she wouldn’t, since I’m not really your big brother!”

Merlin stops in his tracks, stunned. Even Will looks surprised at the outburst. Merlin’s face morphs from shock to hurt to anger, and his hands curl into tight fists at his side. As Robin’s brain stumbles around forming an apology he dimly prays that Merlin won’t lose control of his magic.

“Merlin, I didn’t mean-”

“Leave me alone, Robin.”

Merlin spins on his heel and runs. Will glares at Robin and retorts, “Well, I hope you’re happy,” before taking off after him.

He’s not happy. Robin has never been so miserable in his life. Not even taking down a fine buck barely ten minutes later and stripping enough meat to keep them fed for a week takes away the urge to chase after Merlin and tell him just how sorry he is.

His footsteps are heavy from more than just his knapsack as he arrives home. There are noises within, and Robin peeks through a window before entering.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, Merlin,” Mother says as she rocks him on her lap, holding his close to her chest. Merlin’s eyes are red and puffy and his nose drips with snot. “It never mattered to me, and you know it doesn’t matter to Robin, either. He’s still your brother, no matter what his blood may say.”

“No. He doesn’t want me anymore. He said.”

Robin aches to tell him that’s not true, that he didn’t mean it, but he’s frozen outside the hut.

“I’m sure he doesn’t feel that way. Robin loves you, and you love him, even if you may not think so right now. That’s what makes a family, the love we bear each other.”

Later, when enough time has passed that neither of them suspect he might have been around to eavesdrop, Robin goes inside. He braves Mother’s disapproving look, laced with something he can’t quite grasp, and goes right to Merlin, apologizing profusely and offering to spend the next few days just with him, whatever he wants to do. Merlin grudgingly agrees, and after a while, things seem to start to go back to normal.

But Merlin doesn’t look at him like Robin is his hero anymore.

 

* * *

 

 

The approach of Merlin’s thirteenth birthday means they have decisions to make. Technically he’s old enough to work in the fields with Robin and everyone else once spring arrives, but Mother is afraid. Merlin still slips up sometimes with the instinctive areas of his magic. He can’t help but react. Spending long, exhausting days in the fields is sure to lower his focus on keeping himself secret.

So it’s decided that Merlin will stay home, helping Mother with her herbalism. Merlin chafes at the decision, furious about being coddled. The village chooses to believe this decision means he’s slow, a savant of herbs but not fit for much else. That annoys Merlin even more than the overprotectiveness, but at least it keeps anyone from prying too closely.

But there are those who don’t buy the act. Will and his mother know better, and Will takes every opportunity to rub Merlin’s intelligence in peoples’ faces. He often is found to have skived off his own duties to go romp in the woods with his friend, leaving Robin to cover and take on the burden of Will’s workload.

Part of Robin is glad that Merlin still has a friend despite the rumours. Things have been still been strained between them the past weeks, even though Robin does all he can to try and fix it. But no matter what he tries, Merlin keeps giving him looks of deep betrayal that cut Robin to the soul then retreating to Will or Mother. An outsider might not have been able to tell the difference, but Robin can, and he finds he really doesn’t like it.

Mother notices too, and Robin has seen her having hushed conversations with Merlin, but they don’t seem to take. So instead she moves to her next target, sending Merlin out to gather herbs and grabbing Robin’s arm to hold him back before he can leave to go hunting.

“Robin, we need to talk.”

He’s been anticipating this conversation for a while, so he tries to head it off at the pass. “I really wasn’t trying to hurt Merlin. I didn’t mean what I said. I’ve never thought of anyone as my family besides you.”

It’s true even. He had figured out years ago that children were supposed to look like their parents. But while Merlin resembled Mother, Robin could not say the same. He’d searched her face long and hard to find something, a nose, a chin, even an ear that looked a bit like his own, but to no avail. He’d even tried to spot something similar about Merlin. He’d overheard his and Will’s mothers talking about how much Merlin looked like his father, a man named Balinor. If this same person was his own father, surely he and Merlin would have something in common.

(He -and later Merlin- had once asked Mother why everyone else had a papa and they didn’t. She had simply told him that he’d died before Merlin was born. Nothing had been said about Robin not being his son too. He’s not sure if that counts as a lie or not.)

Mother smiles softly and takes his hand to lead him to sit on the bed. “I know, love. Most times even I forget that I didn’t carry you for nine months as I did Merlin. It feels like you’ve always been mine.” She lets go of his hand and scoots back a bit, like distance is all that can protect her from her words. “But you aren’t, not when it comes to blood.”

“That doesn’t mat-”

“Nor to me, my boy. Never think that it does. But you need to hear this. I promised myself I would tell you when you were old enough to choose for yourself.”

Choose? Choose what? To leave? He would never.

“I was still pregnant with Merlin when I found you. I was hiding in a cave from a group of soldiers patrolling the woods. In that cave I found you, sleeping away in a little basket, not a care in the world. You were such a tiny thing, with the most beautiful blond hair and bright blue eyes. I couldn’t leave you there. From the moment you first looked at me you’d stolen my heart.”

Mother smiles to herself as she remembers, but Robin can’t help but notice her eyes are sad, bright with unshed tears.

“I was so terrified those first few months, years even, that someone would come to claim you. Already I loved you so much, I couldn’t have bared it to give you up. Sometimes a rumour would surface here and there about children that had gone missing, but they never progressed beyond that- just _rumours_. And then there was one time I thought you might be mistaken for another child and I had to hide you for weeks for fear they’d accidentally take you away from me…

“I don’t know what I would have done if your real birth mother appeared. By rights you belong to her, but…” Mother sighs. “Parents always say that they will do whatever they must to make their children happy. But the truth is we’re just as selfish with them as anything else. Even if I’d known you would have been elated with your birth parents, I think I might have tried to keep you anyway. For me.” A hint of fear creases her forehead. “Have you been unhappy, knowing you aren’t mine?”

“I’ve never been unhappy.” It’s true. He’s never really felt anything about it until now.

“I’m glad.”

Her words are genuine, but Mother appears to be fighting an inner battle with herself. Finally she pulls something from the pocket of her dress and places it in his hand. It’s a small disc, a symbol of a bird or a dragon or maybe some kind of wild cat on the front. “This was with you when I found you. I asked once, just on the sly, what such a thing could mean. They said it was the symbol of a noble household. My guess is your mother or father worked in such a place, that it’s a mark of loyalty to the nobility. I’m afraid it’s the only clue I have of who your birth parents are.” Robin attempts to push it away, not liking where this is heading, but she folds his hand over the disc. “One day you may wish to search for them. Maybe not now, but when you’re older. I don’t want you to feel guilty for that.”

Robin wants to deny it all, to state without a doubt that he will never ever want to search out these people who abandoned him. But the words don’t seem to want to come out of his mouth. Instead he says the only thing he can.

“No matter what may or may not happen, you will always be my mother.”

Her smile still doesn’t seem to reach her eyes, but she doesn’t say anything more about it, just leans forward and kisses his forehead. “Don’t worry too much. Merlin will come round. He loves you far too much to stay angry long.”

 

* * *

 

 

A month later, Robin’s at home fixing a draft in the back wall. He’s been putting it off for days, but Mother woke up this morning with numb fingers and blue lips, so he needs to get it done with no more delays. Mother herself is doing laundry at Will’s house, gossiping with her old friend while Merlin is out harvesting willow bark to fight the increasing fevers in the village.

Robin is so intent upon his work that he nearly misses the clatter of hooves and rhythmic wheels of a rickety cart storming into the village square. He can’t miss the gathering of voices as people emerge from their homes to find out what this stranger wants. It’s so rare that people stumble across their village. No one really cares about a tiny farming community on the edge of the border.

Putting his tools away, he too goes out to see what’s going on. The crowd has gathered a few houses down from him, gathering around the newcomer, obscuring him from view. Across the path, Robin spots Mother leaning out Astrid’s doorway, her own gaze fixed upon the commotion. Robin shakes his head and shoos her back inside. Visitors are rare to Ealdor, but the few they get tend to bring predominantly bad news.

His fears are confirmed when he reaches the crowd.

“-see your plight, and I wish to lend you aid. I am offering ten gold pieces to anyone who gives the name of a sorcerer or five gold pieces to anyone who gives the name of someone who is consorting with sorcerers.”

Robin gapes. Dimly he’s amazed it took this long for something like this to happen. Magic isn’t technically against law in Cenred’s kingdom. Looked down upon, feared, despised, but not outlawed. Neither is slavery. This man was well within his rights to pay for any person he chose. And after that, he could sell them to Camelot for ten times the profit.

“I will stay in this village until nightfall. You have until then to hand the scoundrels over to me.”

Robin retreats as discreetly as he can amongst the commotion that breaks out back to Will’s house. Mother’s face has gone deathly white, and even Astrid looks like she’s about to cry.

“You must go find the boys,” Mother insists immediately. “Stay away until sunset and don’t return until he’s gone. If no one sees you, no one will think to accuse you.”

The thought that anyone in Ealdor would give Merlin up makes Robin sick, but he knows the game has just changed. In a poor place like this, ten gold pieces are enough to feed a family for a year. No one will have to prove anything. They just had to say the words and even magicless Robin or Will could be carted away to their deaths. If it weren’t for Merlin, even Robin admits he might be tempted.

Robin kisses his mother on the cheek and hugs her tightly. “Stay out of sight yourselves.” He wishes she could come with him, but he fears that might look guilty, their entire family fleeing for the hills. “We’ll be back soon.”

“Not too soon.”

Robin stops at home and grabs his crossbow and rucksack first. If he’s going to be out all day, he may as well get something done. He considers grabbing a length of rope –both Merlin and Will are stubborn mules, and he’s sure they’ll want to come back and protect their mothers– but he decides to hope rationalization wins out.

He heads to where Merlin usually went to gather willow bark. His brother had been gone for a few hours now, plenty of time to actually complete his chore, but since Will had snuck out with him, Robin guesses they haven’t even started. He can only hope he finds them before they decide to head back to the village. Luckily he’s been training himself to hunt game for years, and two teenage boys are nothing compared to a deer. He finds the two sliding across the frozen river, Merlin’s basket set to the side and surprising already full of the fruits of his task.

They don’t notice Robin’s approach at first. He considers leaping out and scaring them, but decides against it. His news is far too serious for that. Will is knocking Merlin to the icy ground, then flailing backwards as Merlin uses his flexibility to retaliate by kicking Will’s legs out from under him. They’re both laughing as they recover from their shock, immediately continuing their tussle.

Robin used to be the one Merlin played with in the river. Years ago, before Robin was so consumed by his duties to his family that he had no more time for fun and games. No more time for Merlin. He wants to fix that. He wishes he knew how.

Will spots him first, just before they’re about to start a race across the ice. “What do _you_ want?”

Merlin shrinks back slightly behind his friend. Robin pretends not to notice, though it shoots a pang through his heart. “Mother and Aunt Astrid sent me. We have to stay out here until sunset.”

That draws Merlin out. “What? Why?” There’s a dark shadow behind his eyes that Robin can easily interpret: _“Is it because of me?”_

Robin can’t bring himself to look at his brother as he answers. “A bounty hunter has come to Ealdor searching for sorcerers. Mother thinks if we stay out of sight, we stand less of a chance of being accused.”

“A bounty hunter?” Will cries, making to gather his things and looking off towards home, just as Robin had expected he would do. For fourteen, Will could be remarkably perceptive.

“ _All_ of us are supposed to stay out of sight. Your mother wants you to stick with us. It’ll be fine, I promise. We’ll go home when night falls.”

Will scowls. “I don’t have to listen to you.”

“You don’t,” he concedes. “But I’d rather not have to comfort your mother when you get sold to Cenred.”

There’s a long tense moment of glaring between them before Will huffs and gives in, stomping away in the opposite direction of the village.

“Come on then,” Arthur beckons, nodding towards the trees Will just vanished through. “It’s freezing out here and I’m not running around for hours just to keep from losing my toes.”

They head towards the cave they used to play in when they were small, making a fire near the entrance. The hours pass in silence, only broken by the occasional ribbing between Merlin and Will as boredom creeps in. Robin can’t help but think about how this would have gone down even a few months ago. Will probably wouldn’t be there for one. Merlin would be teasing Robin instead, making shapes from the fire and chasing Robin around like he used to at home.

Before too long, though, the ribbing between the two younger boys escalates, tempers flaring from the stress of the situation. Will stomps off, muttering under his breath about getting more wood for ungrateful sods. Robin unconsciously relaxes with his absence, but he can’t help but notice Merlin stiffens. As he always does when he’s anxious, Merlin pulls the little leather bracelet off his wrist and twists it about. It makes Robin’s stomach clench to know he’s causing his brother to hurt.

Eventually he can’t take the strained silence anymore. “I said I’m sorry, Merlin! What more do you want from me? I can’t help we don’t share the same blood. If I could change that I would, you know I would.”

Merlin is silent for a long moment, face revealing nothing. Robin’s ready to give up again when he murmurs, “When did Mother tell you?”

“She- she didn’t,” Robin admits. “We’ve talked since… you know, but she never… I guess I just, I always just _knew_. I mean, look at us. I don’t look a thing like either of you, but you look exactly like her. I didn’t know for sure though, I guess, not until I overheard some men in the fields talking about ‘the foundling.’ Then I figured out they meant me.”

“Why didn’t you tell me then? Why didn’t Mother?”

There, finally, Merlin’s no longer looking at Robin with anger. But the expression that takes its place is no less harsh to see. His eyes are filled with disappointment, and a touch of loneliness. Robin stands and goes to sit next to him, grateful that for once Merlin doesn’t flinch away. He wraps his arms around his brother and holds him tight.

“I’m sorry, Merlin. I really am. I didn’t tell you because knowing didn’t change anything, not for me. You’re my family. You, not some person who abandoned me in the woods. Honestly, part of me thought you had guessed as well and felt the same.”

Merlin meets his eyes, and Robin can tell he wants to believe him. Robin prays that he does, but he’s not sure what else he can do to get his brother back. Or maybe…

“Here, you want to see something?” Robin goes and rummages through his pack, coming back with the round disc Mother had given him. He had kept it there so Merlin wouldn’t come across it. But no more. “This is the only hint I have about my birth parents. Mother said she found it with me.” He presses the disc into Merlin’s hand. “I want you to have it. As proof that I have no desire to have any family but you and Mother.”

There it is, the promise he could not give before. Somehow it feels right with Merlin in a way it didn’t with Hunith. Merlin has been ingrained in him as his number one priority for as long as he can remember. If he had to choose between them, he has to admit he would choose his brother, and he’s sure it would be with her wholehearted approval.

Merlin stares with awe down at the disc. His fingers curl around it tightly, and Robin does him the favour of not mentioning the sparkle of tears in his eyes. Or at least he will so long as Merlin does the same for him. Merlin’s lips curl up, just a bit. “Not even if you’ve got another, less troublesome brother out there, one who doesn’t have magic?”

“Not even if I have a hundred brothers who are the queen of Sheba.”

Merlin laughs, and despite his best efforts, Robin laughs too. “You’ve got some strange brothers there.”

“Yeah, I do.” Robin musses Merlin’s hair, ignoring his brother’s mild protests. “Come on, let’s get back before Mother starts to worry.”

For the first time in weeks, Robin goes to bed happy.

But that happiness could not last for long.

 

* * *

 

 

Merlin knows he’s lucky. He lives in a quiet, isolated place where danger is mostly limited to a winter frost. He has a wonderful friend who is always willing to skive off work to help Merlin with his own. He has a fantastic mother and brother who have been protecting him with their lives practically since he was born.

So while Merlin has plenty he would love to change about his life, he knows so long as these facts are true, he has things better than most.

He’s nearly eighteen now, and Mother has spent the last few years relying on him more and more to do the more physical aspects of her herbalism trade. She’s the closest thing Ealdor has to a physician, and despite their small population she is never lacking for patients. It feels like Merlin spends most of his days hunting for plants, and when he is home he’s crushing leaves and chopping roots.

He doesn’t mind. Merlin loves helping his mother however he can. It’s the least he can do to make up for being such a burden on her. He knows he’s the reason she has only Astrid for a friend, though the other villagers tolerate her and her bastard child well enough these days. Sometimes Merlin sits with her by the fire and strokes her hair the way she’s always loved, knowing that each grey hair was caused by the stress of keeping his magic a secret.

He knows she’ll never say anything, but it doesn’t stop him from weeping sometimes for the life his mother never had.

When Mother sends him off one morning to restock her store of elderberry, Merlin takes up his basket with a smile and kisses her cheek, just as he has nearly every morning since he turned thirteen. And Mother implores him to return in a timely manner and to please, _please_ be careful, just as she has every morning since he was old enough to listen to her.

Of course, they both know that Will is probably lurking at the edge of the woods with his own basket and waiting for Merlin to join him. They’ll take an hour to gather as many elderberries as possible, then goof off the rest of the day playing in the river or exploring their old haunts. Because while Merlin really will do anything for his mother, he is still just a boy.

Will loves when their goal for the day is to gather berries rather than “boring girly flowers.” His favourite game is pretending he’s completely forgotten how to identify anything and holding up berry after berry for Merlin to name. Of course, more than three-quarters of them are never even close, and the half of those that aren’t poisonous get popped in his mouth.

Luckily Merlin knows exactly where to find a few dozen bushes full of the correct berries, so he just chuckles and informs Will that his strawberry is a raspberry before continuing on towards his destination. Sure enough, the bushes here are more than plentiful enough to fill his baskets several times over. The trees, on the other hand, have seen better days.

“Glad we just need the fruit and not the bark,” Will snorts, knocking on a trunk with a frown. “What’s wrong with ‘em, d’ya think?”

“Blight,” Merlin answers simply. He’s seen it before on some other trees in the forest. While he hates to lose such wonderful specimens, he’s sure even more magnificent ones will later grow in their place. “Watch out for any that are especially rotted. The best fruit will be around the good trees anyway.”

Keeping towards the healthy trees limits their search, but soon Merlin’s basket is full and Will’s has a decent lining on the bottom. They take a break so Merlin can stuff his face as well, and Will can pretend to be exhausted from all the work he hasn’t done. They can actually see the field workers in the distance from here, and Merlin’s glad they’re far enough away that though they might be spotted in turn, no one will be able to tell it’s Will here with him and force him to leave.

“I’m telling you, Merlin, this physician stuff is hard work. It’s a good thing we don’t have to gather this for a whole city. Can you imagine how long that would take?”

“Probably about as long as it takes us now, if only we cut out all your slacking.” Merlin gives him a playful shove.

Will scoffs. “Slacking? I’ll have you know I sprained my wrist last night. You’re lucky I even came out here to help. Mother wanted me to rest it for the next week.”

“I commend you for your sacrifice,” Merlin teases. “Oh, most noble William, how will I ever repay you?”

“How ‘bout by finishing up yourself and letting me take a nap?” Will leans back against a tree trunk. “I’m knackered.”

Merlin’s about to make a retort when there’s a loud _crack_ , and suddenly Will jumps forward as his leaning post gives way. They both watch in horror as the tree slowly snaps further and further, and there’s only one way this can end.

Merlin can see it now. The tree is wide and tall, though luckily not so tall it will be able to hit anyone out in the fields. That’s the only blessing he can see, however. It’s definitely tall enough to hit several rows of crops, and that’s food they can’t afford to be destroyed. Blight and frost do enough to limit their yields.

He can’t let it happen. Merlin has to stop it.

It feels like the moments after that initial snap last a lifetime, but in reality it was probably only a few seconds between that and Merlin throwing out a hand as if he could use it to physically catch the giant tree. And then, though he never touches it, doesn’t even need to, the tree stops, still tilted at a precarious angle.

Silence reigns through the forest.

“You- You’re a– You’re-”

Merlin closes his eyes against Will’s shocked stammer. He does his best not to think about how his life is quite literally over and instead focuses on the tree in his magical grasp. He can’t put it back how it was, not with half the village probably staring in their direction. But he can’t leave it this way, either. He’s not sure if he can hold it in place forever for one thing, especially when he still doesn’t really know _how_ he did it in the first place, and it will look extremely suspicious anyway once someone sees how far it’s tilted. So Merlin very, _very_ slowly starts to bring it more upright, sending a plea to the nearby branches to reach out for it and tangle together until it looks like they might have been the ones to halt the fall.

“ _Merlin,_ ” Will breathes. Merlin doesn’t open his eyes. He can’t face the fear, the hatred he knows he’ll see on his friend’s face. “You did _magic_.”

“I don’t know what you think you saw, William,” a cold voice interrupts, “but I believe you’re sorely mistaken.”

Merlin’s eyes fly open to the sight of Robin converging on Will with a steely fury on his face. His brother plants himself firmly between the two of them, hands balled into fists at his side. The one hand twitches, and Merlin’s able to see the flash of metal within it.

Will isn’t perturbed by the sight. He crosses his arms and stares him down challengingly. “So you’re saying Merlin didn’t just stop a tree from falling by _looking_ at it?”

“Exactly. You didn’t see it, and it didn’t happen. Merlin, it’s time for you to go home.” Robin doesn’t so much as glance away from Will, and Merlin is able to feel fear for Will slightly override the fear for himself.

“Please don’t hurt him, Robin,” he begs, stepping around to Robin’s side. He can’t go further because his brother throws out an arm to stop him. “He’s not going to tell anyone. Are you, Will?”

It’s the most important question he’s ever asked in his life, and he’s pretty sure Will knows it too. “Of course not. Merlin’s my mate. I could never do that to him.”

“ _Go home_ , Merlin,” Robin orders again. “I’m not going to do anything to Will. In fact we will be joining you shortly. But I think Mother might appreciate a bit of a heads up before we get there.”

Merlin has no choice then but to trust that his brother will believe Will’s assertions and not use his hunting knife to gut him right here in the woods. Robin’s right, Mother will be frantic when she finds out. This is Merlin’s fault. He should have never been so stupid.

He tears back through the forest towards their little cottage, not stopping even when he trips and stumbles and sprains his ankle a bit. Will won’t tell. Merlin’s sure he won’t tell. They’re friends. He can trust Will. He’s safe. He’s safe, he’s safe, he’s-

“Mother!” he bursts into the house. Mother is sitting at the table, chopping up vegetables for dinner. She looks up startled when he enters, and she must read the fear in his eyes immediately, for she stands and backs away with a hand over her mouth.

“I’m sorry, Mother. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to! I had to stop it from hitting the crops, and Will was just _there_ , and he saw and now Robin’s got him and–”

“Hush, love,” Mother regains her composure and drags him into a hug. Merlin pretends he can’t feel her shaking in terror. “We’re going to get through this, I promise. I won’t let anything happen to you. Now, sit down and explain it again.”

Merlin just finishes a more composed version of his tale when Robin arrives with Will. True to his word, Will is unharmed, though he glares at Robin more fiercely than he ever has before. Merlin wonders what kind of threats Robin gave as they made their way back here. He goes instantly for Merlin and Mother, stopping short when Robin growls a warning.

“I swear, I would never tell anyone about Merlin’s secret. He’s my best mate. I don’t care if he can catch falling trees or turn foxes purple. I’ll take it to my grave rather than give him up.”

Mother and Robin keep their nervous expressions, but Merlin beams. He knew he was right to trust Will. Friends didn’t betray friends, and Will has always been the truest friend of them all.

“Not even for ten pieces of gold?” Robin snaps. “You could actually get twenty for turning in all of us. Not tempted in the least?”

“I’d turn _you_ in tomorrow!” Will glowers at him, and Merlin flinches. He _needs_ Robin. If something were to happen to him because of Merlin, he would never forgive himself. “But that’d hurt Merlin, and I just told you, I wouldn’t do that. I couldn’t.”

“Will,” Mother says softly, keeping her voice remarkably steady despite the force with which she’s still clutching to Merlin. “You realize that by knowing you’re now in danger yourself? If someone finds out you knew, they could turn you and your mother in as well.”

He cocks his head and allows a tiny smile. “Quite honestly, Aunt Hunith, no one’s going to believe I didn’t know anyway. I’m with Merlin more than anyone but you.”

Merlin nearly lets out an anguished wail at that. Had he really put Will in so much danger just by being friends with him? Mother and Robin had had no choice, but Will didn’t have to be around him all the time. Merlin couldn’t believe he had been such an idiot as to allow this to happen.

Yet while he’s drowning in his inner turmoil, Mother gives Will the smallest smile back. “You should go home. Rest and think about this. It’s a big thing we’re asking of you here. We understand if you want to change your mind.”

“Thank you, but I won’t. Change my mind that is.” He glances towards Robin, who still looks ready to murder him in his sleep. “But I will go home because you probably want to talk without me here.”

He sets down the two baskets full of berries Merlin hadn’t even given a thought to in what felt like ages, then slips out of the house.

Robin immediately springs into action, tossing a rucksack at Merlin and using another to gather up bits and bobs around the cottage. “Pack lightly, but if you really want it, you’d better grab it now.”

Merlin sits stunned, blinking blankly at the bag. “Pack?”

“Yes, Merlin, pack. I have a satchel of dried foods under the bed. It should be enough to last us a week or two combined with what I can hunt up for us until we can get settled in another village. Although I don’t know how far we’ll have to travel. Bayard’s kingdom didn’t look far on that map, but you never know.”

The implications of Robin’s words finally hit him. “But- I don’t want to leave! Mother, he can’t be serious. We can’t leave Ealdor!” He’s not sure whether to be offended Robin has always had a plan for the inevitable day Merlin slipped and revealed himself or in awe that his brother went to so much work to protect him. The former fits his mood better, though.

“He’s right, Merlin. It’s not safe for you anymore.” Mother chews her lip nervously, though she, too, hasn’t moved from their seat on the bed.

“But you heard Will! He’s going to keep quiet! I’m safe; we’re all _safe_!”

“And when his mother gets sick and he can’t pay for the medicine to fix her up?” Robin asks darkly. “When an early frost ruins the harvest and he’s starving in his home? Everyone has a price, Merlin. I’m not willing to wait to find out his.”

“Robin, wait,” Mother sighs. Merlin turns to her with hope. She had to see that this was ridiculous. There was no reason they had to go anywhere. “I don’t think Bayard’s kingdom is the solution we need.”

“Thank-”

Mother squeezes Merlin’s hand to silence him. “You’d still be in the same situation as here, and nothing will have changed except one less person will be around to share your secret.”

“You can’t possibly be considering us staying,” Robin gapes.

“No, my dear boy. Staying is far too dangerous. But aimlessly running isn’t going to help. What Merlin needs is a tutor.”

They’re both gaping at her now. “A _tutor_? For _magic?_ ” Merlin breathes. He can’t even identify the emotions running through his brain right now. “How on earth would I find someone like that?”

“I know someone, an old friend. He used to practice, back before the ban. I trust him with my life, and yours as well. You need discipline, Merlin. He can teach you to hide yourself better, and to control your magic.”

“Could I really…? Where is he? How do I get there?” The excitement was bubbling up. The chance to talk to someone like him, to learn how to use his gift for more than just hidden party tricks… It was more than he’d ever dared dream of.

“He lives in Camelot. In the castle. Gaius is King Uther’s court physician.”

 

 


End file.
